


(i'm) where villains spend the weekend

by Edgebug



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasy elements, M/M, really really weird AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gotham is my home," Oswald says.</p><p>Jim is drawn to Oswald just like he's drawn to the city and he feels a genuine affection for it; it's so corrupt and twisted and yet so goddamn beautiful, undeniably so, magnetic in its pull and Jim thinks that really, there isn't much of a difference between the city and Oswald.</p><p>(In which there is more to Oswald than meets the eye, Jim restores balance, and life is complicated.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i'm) where villains spend the weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [(i'm) where villains spend the weekend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149176) by [ilylynnbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilylynnbelle/pseuds/ilylynnbelle)



> This is just really fucking weird and I'm not sure what's going on anymore but my fingers slipped and I accidentally wrote 2800-ish words of semi-incoherent nonsense. So, um. Here.

"Gotham is my home," Oswald says shakily, "I've got nowhere else to go," and even though Jim knows he isn't lying it doesn't somehow seem entirely true either, it doesn't ring in Jim's bones like the whole truth, it doesn't feel completely accurate and he can't put his finger on why but Oswald's eyes are wide and earnest and Jim lets him down from the grimy brick wall he'd been holding him up against.

"Trust me now or kill me," he demands, and Jim chooses to trust him.

-

"Gotham is my home," Oswald says.

Jim is drawn to Oswald just like he's drawn to the city and he feels a genuine affection for it; it's so corrupt and twisted and yet so goddamn beautiful, undeniably so, magnetic in its pull and Jim thinks that really, there isn't much of a difference between the city and Oswald.

He is drawn to Oswald over and over--because Oswald has information, because Oswald needs help, because Oswald is who he wants to be near.

He walks down Gotham's streets, trawls almost affectionately through its veins. He presses bruising kisses to Oswald's skin and strokes down the paths forged by his spine and rib cage. Oswald gasps and the street lamps outside the bedroom window flicker.

Gotham is Jim's home too, now. There's no changing that. Not anymore.

-

"Gotham is my home," Oswald says by way of explanation when Jim asks how he seems to fit in everywhere, seamlessly, like he damn well belongs.

"You been here your whole life?"

Oswald flashes a smile quick as a cat. "Yes," he says. "I have. My whole life, right here."

His bright eyes look like clear water, the type you carelessly step into thinking it's only a few inches deep and in a split second you end up ten feet under the surface gasping and thrashing, and Jim looks away before he drowns there.

-

"Gotham is my home," Oswald says when Jim points out that he's found an old photo of someone who must be one of Oswald's relatives, the resemblance is so uncanny; "Of course my ancestry is from here."  
_  
__You have no father and your mother is a German immigrant;_ _your father was also German because her last name isn't Americanized,_ Jim thinks but does not say. Your relatives are not from Gotham.

-

Oswald gets energized when it rains and he gets sluggish during rush hour and his favorite time of year is election season when the entire city is vibrating with tension and excitement. The holiday season falls right after in his list of favorites; it's not as if he celebrates the holidays with any particularly unusual joy, but his health seems to improve. His leg gets less sore.

Jim asks him why. "Gotham is my home," Oswald replies slowly and looks into Jim's eyes like he hopes Jim is going to find something there and, again, Jim looks away before he drowns.

-

"Gotham's not my home," Oswald says.

He was injured today; he and Jim were looking for a missing person that didn't want to be found and when he was tracked down and cornered in a back alley, he panicked and attacked the nearest person. A bullet grazed Oswald's bad leg and he fell to the ground with a shrill cry and Jim doesn't have time to react and capture the man who fired because the pavement convulses beneath his feet and knocks him down--and the man somehow gets away.

Oswald clutches his bleeding leg and Jim doesn't even try to stand up because the ground is shaking violently; an earthquake, in Gotham? Now? Jim crawls along the trembling concrete toward Oswald who howls in pain and hugs his leg closer. "Oswald! Oswald, listen, you're going to be okay!" He looks at the wound, "it's just a scratch!"

A building at the other end of the alley wobbles as tears streak down Oswald's face and he lets out a hitching sob; Jim can hear crashing. Something caved in.

"Oswald, please," Jim says, pressing on the wound to stop the bleeding, even though he knows it hurts Oswald, "please calm down, I need you to calm down." Oswald's wide eyes fix on Jim's and Jim gets that feeling that he's about to drown, again, but the floor is quaking and he doesn't look away. This injury and Oswald's reaction aren't congruent; the injury isn't that bad, it's the panic that's hurting Oswald most. "We need to get somewhere safe," he says.

Oswald takes a deep breath. Nods. Forces himself to relax.

And as quick as it came on, the earthquake ceases. The asphalt stops moving and for a long moment everything is silent.

"I'm sorry," Oswald says, voice small. "The bullet hit where Mooney i-injured my leg. It was--it is--very painful."

"Are you--" Jim blinks, catching his breath and willing his heart to slow down even as he gives a slightly hysterical, incredulous laugh. "Are you apologizing for the _earthquake_?"

"Please take me home. I need medical attention," Oswald murmurs. "This is not my home. Gotham is not my home."

-

"Jim," Oswald says softly as Jim bandages the bullet graze on his leg. "There's something I've kept from you."

"You're not from Gotham?" Oswald's ankle is in Jim's lap as he tends to the wound.

"No, I... I am. From Gotham. Literally." He closes his eyes. "Jim, Gotham is not my home because I _am_ Gotham."

Jim blinks. "Pardon me?"

Oswald leans forward and lightly grasps Jim's sleeve, opens his eyes to look, piercing, into Jim's. "I am Gotham," he says, quiet and sober, and Jim shakes his head, finishes bandaging his leg and moves away. Stands up.

"You're tired is what you are. You need some sleep, you're not making sense." Jim makes to step back and Oswald grabs his wrist, pulls him closer.

"Jim, please, I'm not delirious," he begs, scrambling to stand on his good leg, "for once I'm telling the exact truth--please _listen_ to me!" He reaches up, wraps a hand round the back of Jim's neck. He leans up and touches his forehead to Jim's, and--

_\--and street lights and moving cars and Jim can feel people sleeping and cats padding step-step across his rooftops and birds roosting on his power lines--_

_\--footsteps against his pavement, against his skin, he can feel new people passing over his borders and he can feel himself becoming home to another; they live within him, part of him now, they are the blood in his veins--_

_\--buildings being built and buildings being torn down and he feels all of it, every brick and every jackhammer pound to concrete--_

_\--he is their corruption and their good and their evil and their love and he has been around for decades, decades, decades, he becomes what his people make him, he becomes he becomes he becomes--_

_\--he is weakening, he feels a terrible disease festering within him, miasmic, it roars in his ears and threatens to swallow him whole- **-**_

**_\--you're the last good man in Gotham and I want to help you--_ **

Gotham lets him go and Jim wrenches away with a sharp gasp like he's forgotten what breathing is like. He stumbles back a few steps, hands flying to his head and cradling his skull instinctively, protectively. Gotham looks at him with clear blue eyes filled with concern and Jim's had panic attacks before and this feeling is pretty damn close but not quite there, a few degrees of separation off but in the same family.

"I'm sorry, old friend," the city says, sounding pained, "it can be intense at first, but I could think of no other way to explain than to show you."

"You're--you're literally Gotham," he says, once he's stopped gasping and his heart climbs back down into its rightful place in his chest from where it had uncomfortably leapt into his throat.

"Yes," Gotham says, "And I rather like the name Oswald still. It has that short-O sound and the same number of letters--"

Jim interrupts. "You're sick?" he blurts out. "You're _sick!_ I could _feel_ it!"

"Yes," Oswald says quietly. Jim shakes himself. Begins pacing back and forth.

"How are you--how are you literally an entire city?" Jim asks, voice still trembling.

"Cities have souls, Jim. I'm Gotham's." He gives a shrug and a shaky, nervous smile, little more than a flash of teeth. "It's as simple as that."

"It doesn't sound very goddamn simple to me!"

"Jim, please sit, you're making me nervous. Nothing has changed. I'm--" Oswald looks genuinely distressed, pain written on his features clear as day as he wrings his hands. "I'm still Oswald," he says, sounding very small indeed, and Jim pauses where he stands, takes a deep breath and then slowly pads over to the sofa and settles down.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he mumbles. "This is just a lot."

"I will be more than happy to answer any questions, to the best of my ability, of course, I--some of this is confusing for me too."

"Your--your mother?"

"Reincarnation is the simplest, cleanest way to run things," he explains, "I come back to different families. Different mothers."

Jim nods. If he can accept that Oswald is a city's soul, he can accept reincarnation. It's no more unbelievable. "So are you some sort of... god?"

Oswald looks incredibly amused and slightly wistful. "I'm flattered, Jim, but no. I can't do superhuman things with this body."

Jim shakes his head. "All that you showed me," he says, "that... it's overwhelming. Do you feel that all the time?"

"You get used to it."

"Seems pretty superhuman to me."

Oswald flickers a smile. "I can't see people's thoughts," he says, "and it's hard for me to focus on specific people or places. I see things as a whole."

Jim sits back, scrubs a hand over his face again. "Oh my god," he groans, tumbling to an awkward realization, "I've been fucking the whole goddamn city."

Oswald laughs, and Jim lets himself quirk a smile. "No, no," Oswald assures him. "Don't worry. _The city_ likes it, I promise."

"Never a dull moment with you, huh?"

"Not a one." They share a tiny chuckle and slowly Jim starts to feel normal again. Just shows how much his life's gone to hell, really. This shit is normal.

Then Jim remembers the illness and he's suddenly brought back into reality. "You're sick," he repeats. "How are you sick? How does a city get an illness?"

Oswald seems brought up short, and his eyes flick downward. "Well," he says quietly, "I really... I knew I was sick when Fish Mooney injured my leg," he says quietly. "Do you remember that Richter-four we had a few months back?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. That was because of Mooney, and..." He motions down to his leg. "The thing is, this injury, it should have healed up. Things of this nature normally do. And it definitely should not have caused an earthquake, I know that for sure."

Jim inches closer, concerned, trying to meet Oswald's eyes. "So what's going on?"

"What I think is happening," Oswald says slowly, "I--I _think_. There isn't a way to be certain. I've never--spoken with another city. There isn't exactly a way to look for this type of thing on the internet, there's no Google for city-souls, I'll tell you that much, but--"

"Please, Oswald, just spit it out."

"I'm out of balance, and that's why I'm--becoming something I don't understand," he says. "Maybe dying. I don't know. I'm fragile, Jim, I'm scared, things I've never, ever been before. I shouldn't have such control over the city's form, this body's feelings shouldn't cause earthquakes but--"

"Do you know why it's happening?"

Oswald pauses and seems to light up for a moment, hopeful. "I'm out of balance, Jim, like I said, I've been for a long time, and it's catching up with me," he says. "Light and dark, good and evil, two sides of the same coin, right? If--if the scale is tipped, things... start going wrong. Slowly at first. I should be indifferent, Jim. Not biased one way or the next." He sighs. "I tried--I tried to take control of things a few years ago, as a human. To try and fix myself. But I--I got caught up in--"

"No, don't--I understand. I saw it," Jim says. "You _are_ Gotham and if too much of it is twisted you get twisted too. It makes sense. In as much as this bullshit can even _make_ sense."

Oswald seems to visibly relax. "I'm glad you understand."

"So let me guess: your plan backfired and things just got worse when you got directly involved in the seedy underbelly of things."

"I guess you could call it self-destructive behavior," Oswald says sheepishly, "and for years I--I thought, what the hell. I'm having a good time. I'm not collapsing. So what if the balance is a little off? It wasn't causing trouble. And then I--Jim, _sometimes I forget who I am."_ Oswald seems suddenly so very small, so very, incredibly tiny and helpless and it's unusual, it's horrible, and Jim gives in and wraps an arm around Oswald's shoulders. Oswald lets out a shaky breath and nestles under Jim's chin. "That's why I want to help you," Oswald says. "Because you actually may be the last good man in Gotham. And without you, I..."

_I don't know what I'll be._

They sit in silence a long time, Jim's arms around Oswald and Oswald curled close. Jim sits and processes it all, tries to wrap his head around their conversation. It's ridiculous, it's bizarre, but he saw it himself and somehow that makes it easier to accept as fact. "All right," Jim says, taking a deep breath. "All right. We've got work to do. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

 "You might not be able to help it," Oswald says softly.

"We're going to try," Jim says, determinedly, "we're goddamn well going to try. And first we need to make sure you're taken care of because you still have to fucking eat, right? Have you had anything in the past eight hours?"

"No," Oswald says, "tuna fish. I'm partial to tuna fish."

-

So Oswald keeps doing whatever Oswald does and Jim keeps working at the precinct, catching the bad guys, keeping people safe. Working hard to tip the scale back in the right damn direction.

Some nights Oswald comes home covered in blood that's not his own.

Sometimes Oswald forgets who he is, for hours at a time before he remembers, shaking and gasping and trying not to panic because he's losing _everything_.

Sometimes Jim wonders if he's too fucking late.

And then sometimes Jim thinks he can feel the city embracing him, purring under his feet.

-

"Gotham's not my home, Jim, because I am Gotham," he murmurs one night, into the quiet space between their lips. "I thought I didn't have a home."

"You thought?" Jim asks. Their legs are entwined, his hands idly stroking Oswald's skin.

"i do have a home. You're my home, Jim Gordon." He lays a hand on Jim's chest. "This is my home. Right here."

They're each other's homes. They're each other's homes and it's been a while but Oswald isn't getting better no matter how hard Jim tries, and that's the moment he decides to try something stupid. "Show me again," he whispers. "What you feel."

Oswald nods and hesitantly touches the back of Jim's neck and--

\--and the city overwhelms him again but he relaxes into it this time, he remembers to breathe, he keeps Oswald's clear-water gaze, holds it steady and lets himself drown, breathes him in slow and even, lets the city fill his lungs and does not fight it. Takes it into himself, the terrifying beauty and the horrific darkness all at once.

 _Let me share this with you. If you can't balance it let me carry some of your burden._ _I love you,_ he thinks into the overwhelming rush of awareness. _And I'd do anything if it would fix you._

And then Jim feels affection, crashing affection like rolling thunder, waves and waves of love, adoration, like the city exists for him, like Gotham itself is devoted to him--he feels joy, pouring off Gotham like a pulse.

_I don't know if I can,_ Jim feels in the back of his skull. _I don't know--_

_Try,_ Jim begs.

And for a shining moment all those thoughts, all those perceptions of the city's goings-on narrow down to that affection, it all melts into _love you love you love you love you_ and Jim tries to give as good as he's getting.

He can't remember Oswald pulling away.

-

When Jim wakes, he is curled around a soundly sleeping Oswald. He can feel Oswald's slow, steady breathing. Birds outside the window chirp and sing with shining enthusiasm.

Jim is warm. Safe. Pleased.

When Jim wakes, he feels sunlight on his rooftops.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this happened because I thought "SO WHAT IF OSWALD IS THE LITERAL PERSONIFICATION OF GOTHAM," and this fic escaped before I could edit myself? I'm still not sure what's going on or what happened. It's open to interpretation. I don't know. *throws hands up in the air*
> 
> title from Panic at the Disco's "Vegas Lights" because it reminds me a lot of Gotham.


End file.
